"How can people be so
ignorant! Why, all Australia has been ringing with the case. At any
rate, it's money out of their pocket. Well?"
"There's nothing more to tell," said Kilsip, "except that she turned up
to-night at five o'clock, looking more like a corpse than anything
else."
When they entered the squalid, dingy passage that led to Mother
Guttersnipe's abode, they saw a faint light streaming down the stair.
As they climbed up they could hear the rancorous voice of the old hag
pouring forth alternate blessings and curses on her prodigal offspring,
and the low tones of a girl's voice in reply. On entering the room
Calton saw that the sick woman, who had been lying in the corner on the
occasion of his last visit, was gone. Mother Guttersnipe was seated in
front of the deal table, with a broken cup and her favourite bottle of
spirits before her. She evidently intended to have a night of it, in
order to celebrate Sal's return, and had commenced early, so as to lose
no time. Sal herself was seated on a broken chair, and leaned wearily
against the wall. She stood up as Calton and the detective entered, and
they saw that she was a tall, slender woman of about twenty-five, not
bad-looking, but with a pallid and haggard appearance from recent
illness. She was clothed in a kind of tawdry blue dress, much soiled
and torn, and had over her shoulders an old tartan shawl, which
she drew tightly across her breast as the strangers entered.
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